


It started off so innocent

by NeonButcher (Neon_Butcher)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neon_Butcher/pseuds/NeonButcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has trouble staying still while asleep, much to Lexa's dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It started off so innocent

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic! Well, really the first thing I've ever written to be honest.  
> I'd really appreciate any suggestions or comments about what you thought.  
> Hope you enjoy.

The first thing I’m aware of when I pull myself from the tendrils of sleep is the offensive red light in the shape of three letters and a form of punctuation.

 

_5:27_

_Ugh. Too early to actually be up at this hour._ I let my eyes slink closed and attempt to get comfortable, trying to salvage what’s left of the night for some rest.

 

Except I can’t.

 

There is currently a sleeping mass with a mess of blonde hair residing comfortably on top of me.

 

I roll my eyes but smile anyway at the fact that it seems whenever we share a bed she is unable to _not_ crawl on me and practically smother me in my sleep.

_Maybe my best friend has some dark intentions._

She had burst into my apartment earlier this night complaining about work and how it’s been _far_ too long since we’ve had a movie night. She was right, we had both been busy with work and other social obligations, but now we’ve both come to a lull in our schedules. So we ordered a pizza with everything on it, except for olives, s _he hates olives_ , and huddled up on the couch to begin a Halloween movie marathon courtesy of the constant and reassuring red of Netflix.

 

It also seems to be a relaxing and lethargic red because halfway into the second movie Clarke drifted off, her head slipping from her propped up hand and hanging limply against her chest. I decided there was no point in waking her, it was probably more effort than it was worth. Clarke was cranky when she woke up. So I just carried her into my room and placed her gently on my bed.

 

As I was getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth, turning all the lights out, changing into leggings and a t-shirt, Clarke had apparently kicked off her socks, jeans and sweater, leaving her in her panties and tank top, cocooned soundly in my sheets. The last thing I remember was crawling in next to her, saying goodnight, receiving no response of course, and drifting off.

 

The Clarke on top of me is in much the same position cognitively. She is snoring lightly, her breath fanning over my shoulder, her chest pushing against my stomach with every inhale -- a welcome rhythm. Her weight is always a welcome one. She is always warm and soft and comforting, the only person allowed into my personal space, the only one I trust enough. Her arms are wrapped around my back and her legs are tangled with mine. I sigh contentedly and start to softly play with her hair.

 

She lets out a little sigh and nuzzles her face into my chest. She starts to shift and I freeze, worrying I might’ve woken her up. She inhales deeply and her brow furrows, as if she’s smelling something familiar yet unrecognizable.

 

I laugh lightly at her facial expression and cease my ministrations in her hair.

 

Clarke lets out a soft whine and moves, shifting up and—

Clarke’s thigh presses snuggly up against me, effectively bringing my brain to a halt.

 

_Oh God._

My face immediately goes aflame and I stare straight up at the headboard only wishing to disappear. _Please stop moving._

_No such luck._

Clarke straddles my thigh, pins it between hers and grinds down, hard, letting out a hum of relief as she does.

 

_This cannot be happening._

I lay there, silently freaking out, as Clarke continues to slowly push her center up and down my thigh, her breathing and heart rate both picking up. _Nice of you to finally join us,_ I think as I feel my own heart hammering against my chest, wondering how it hasn’t woken her up yet.

 

_Though, she does seem to really be into this dream._

As if to prove my point, Clarke lets out a low moan. I feel it vibrate over my skin and echo in my head. _God, why does she have such a breathy moan?_ I squirm slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure that’s building in my stomach and the ache that’s blooming between my legs.

 

_Should I wake her up? Aren’t you not supposed to wake up people who are having wet dreams? No, that’s for sleep walkers. But if I wake her up there’s going to be lethal amounts of awkwardness. I guess I’m just going to have to tough it out and hope she’s close._

She shifts again, pulling her arms from behind my back and grips the collar of my shirt in one hand and my wrist in the other, nails digging in. _Fuck._ Her new position has her face in my neck, panting and moaning her pleasure, and her leg rocking into the juncture between my thighs with every thrust.

 

_Oh. My. God._

I try. I really do. I try to not let this affect me, but c’mon. When you have an attractive blonde writhing and moaning on top of you, hitting that spot _just right_ ,

 

I can feel it building up quickly, my stomach quivering, hips jolting off the bed and into Clarke’s, ready to receive mine and amplify her own pleasure, and hands grasping the comforter. I’m _absolutely_ losing my mind.

 

She is too if her increase in tempo and the nearly constant stream of moans coming from her is any indication.

 

Suddenly she latches her lips to my neck and I nearly lose it right there, her lips insistent against my pulse point. I moan so loud that I’d be worried about Clarke’s apparently inability to hear _anything_ when she’s asleep if I was able to think about anything other than how _good_ this all feels.

 

She ruts her hips against me a few more times, impossibly hard, before she tenses and stills and breathes my name.

 

“ _Lexa.”_

And I’m gone.

 

I come with a surprised cry, my muscles tensing, hips undulating against Clarke, riding out my orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure surges through my body, taking over all my senses.

 

When I’ve recovered enough to trying to regulate my breathing and am aware of what’s going on I feel Clarke faintly smiling against my neck and I feel the hand that was gripping my wrist now entwined with mine, her other arm wrapping back around my back, apparently affectionate after her release.

 

I’m so thoroughly worn that it probably takes three of her gentle exhales against my neck to send me to sleep.

 

 

This time when I wake up, it’s to the smell of cooking bacon and the absence of additional body heat.

 

I make my way out of the bedroom and find Clarke in the kitchen making bacon and pancakes, wearing one of my sweaters and her panties, humming some song.

 

_Does she remember?_

I’ve just resolved to just forget about it when she turns around and smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead. I was wondering when you were going to get your lazy ass out of bed.”

 

That doesn’t seem like something someone who was aware of the fact that they dry humped their best friend in their sleep last night would say. Then again, maybe it was. I can’t say I have much expertise in that field.

 

“Sorry, I guess I was just exhausted.” _After all that had transpired between them last night, she was._

“Yeah, I bet, you’ve really been pushing yourself hard lately,” she responded thoughtfully.

 

“Not nearly as hard as _you’ve_ been pushing,” I said, grinning at the thought of her insistent hips and needy movements.

 

Clarke laughed, _“Please,_ you pushed just as much as I did last night,” a mischievous glint in her eye as she winked at me and turned back to the pancakes.

 

She remembers.

 

 _Fuck_.


End file.
